


Calisthenics.

by omphale23, slidellra (sli)



Category: due South
Genre: Co-Written, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphale23/pseuds/omphale23, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sli/pseuds/slidellra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They go running before work three, maybe four, mornings a week, which means that Ray spends a lot of time looking at Fraser's ass in running shorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calisthenics.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearl_o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/gifts).



He hates running. Not just because it means getting up early and muscles burning and not enough oxygen. He hates it because of Fraser's ass. They go running before work three, maybe four, mornings a week, which means that Ray spends a lot of time looking at Fraser's ass in running shorts.

Plus Fraser borrows Ray's shower some mornings when they're running late, and Ray maybe sneaks a peak through the shower door when he brings in a towel. Fraser never remembers to take one in with him, which is weird but Ray's not complaining all that much.

Other than the towel thing, Fraser is very responsible, so he's diligent with the stretching. Both warm up and cool down. Ray had no idea Fraser was so flexible.

Not only that, but Fraser makes these little _noises_ when he stretches. Not like it hurts, although some of those positions make Ray wince in sympathy. More like he really enjoys feeling that stretch of muscles, and can't help moaning a little. Ray's started wearing his shorts really loose.

Some mornings, Fraser asks Ray to help with his stretches. To hold Fraser's leg and push. It's stupid, but knowing that it's his hands on Fraser's skin, the pressure he's putting on Fraser's body making him sound like that... It's the hottest thing Ray can imagine. Except for that flash of Fraser's bare, wet ass with the slow streaks of soap slipping down, when they get back late and Fraser has to borrow his shower and wear his spare uniform, which is hanging in Ray's front closet. The mornings with the towels. Those are his favorite ones.

The funny thing is that there are times when he's sure, absolutely fucking positive, that Fraser knows what he's doing. There's this look in his eye, like he's daring Ray to say something. And there are moments where Ray's bent over his knees, dripping sweat onto the gravel, and he feels air on the back of his neck. Like Fraser's blowing on him, trying to cool him off. It doesn't help matters, because the thought makes his heart speed up and he can't catch his breath.

Running with a hard-on sucks, so he tries to ignore it, but he just gets more and more frustrated. Ray is faster, but Fraser never wears out, so by the time they get back to his apartment, Fraser's always pulled just a bit ahead, and Ray can't help but watch his ass flex in his sweats. This morning he almost ran Fraser over, didn't see that they were outside his apartment and Fraser had trotted to a stop.

He apologized, but he's pretty sure Fraser noticed. What with the way Ray smacked into him from behind and Fraser ended up pinned against the wall, trapped between the bricks and Ray's dick.

Fraser was polite, but it took a few seconds for Ray to remember that he wasn't _actually_ fucking Fraser, and he knows that Fraser's not usually that breathless at the end of a run. But he can't figure out how to start the conversation.

So he just steps back and stares at the ground and pulls the door open for Fraser, who walks through first even though he should be running away at top speed.

Usually Ray limps up the stairs, groaning out his pain. Today they're both silent as they climb. Inside, he strips off his t-shirt and tosses towards his bedroom, then goes to get a glass of water. His hands are shaking as he drinks.

He bangs the glass down a little hard, but it's not on purpose. He's just having a hard time figuring out where his skin ends and the room starts. He turns around to call out to Fraser, ask if he wants something (yeah, like that isn't a loaded question) and staggers, because Fraser's right _there_, up in Ray's space. Ray didn't hear him come into the kitchen, and now Fraser's looking at him and asking a question with his eyes and Ray's not sure how to answer.

"Water?" He croaks.

Fraser frowns, like Ray said the wrong thing, then picks up Ray's glass from the counter. He takes a long drink, and Ray gets caught watching his throat work. Fraser's lips are wet, a drop of water clinging to the lower one, and Ray's brain is just firing off randomly, all _lick_ and _want_ and gears mashing.

He can almost hear it, the way his brain suddenly jumps tracks from, 'Fraser, Fraser, Fraser,' to 'he's flirting, the fucker is _flirting_ with me and he's not that innocent at all.' While his brain is doing its thing, Ray's tongue is moving, licking across his own lip at the point where Fraser's eyes are resting.

Fraser's breath catches, and Ray's thought processes sort themselves out. "Can I get you anything else?" He drops his gaze to Fraser's sweaty shirt, lets it linger on the way the damp cotton clings to his chest. When Fraser doesn't answer, he shifts back to lean on the counter and drags his eyes back up.

Fraser's standing there, frozen. He doesn't look scared, so Ray's still on the right track. He just looks...hungry. Like he's afraid to reach out, but he can't walk away, either. Ray knows that feeling. And he figures it's up to him to get them moving again.

Hopefully soon enough that they don't both end up late for work.

He reaches out and rubs his thumb along Fraser's lip, feeling the heat of Fraser and the cool of the water.

"Shower?" He asks, not bothering to cover the huskiness in his voice.

Fraser smiles and they're _there_, Ray can feel it. "Not just yet, I think."

"No," Ray agrees, shaking his head. And it's lame and Ray doesn't even know what they're saying but they're looking at each other and they are in total 100% agreement.

That good feeling lasts a few seconds, and they've got time to enjoy it, to think about what comes next. Ray's starting to feel the tension, but he rolls his shoulders a bit to loosen them up. He looks away, glances out the window as he rubs his arm against a sudden chill.

While he's distracted, Fraser breaks out of whatever's been holding him still and leans forward. He drops his hands to the counter on either side of Ray, takes a step and pins him against the edge. Ray's trapped, but he's pretty okay with that.

Fraser shifts his hips and Ray shivers at the contact. No way there's any miscommunication here. Fraser's as hard as he is, and he's got maybe twenty pounds on him and knows how to use his weight. Ray lets his eyes close and his head drop forward, so that he's braced against Fraser's collarbone. Fraser's breathing hard in his ear, deep gusts of air that have nothing to do with the miles they've just jogged or the stairs.

Ray does what he's been aching to do for months, for fucking ever. He reaches around Fraser and grabs two handfuls of the finest ass to ever grace Chicago.

Fraser doesn't jump or clear his throat or do any of the "Excuse me, sir or ma'am, please remove your hand from my posterior," bit Ray's seen him have to do too many times. He just grinds up against Ray, doing something incredible with his tongue and Ray's neck, so Ray slides his hands under Fraser's shirt to feel the hot skin of his back, then down under the waist of his sweats.

And we have contact, Ray thinks, and snickers to himself, stupid from relief and the fact that it's 7:45 on a Tuesday morning and he's about to get laid.

"Is something funny?" Fraser's pulled back to look at him, a puzzled frown on his face.

Ray shakes his head. "Nope. Just having fun." Fraser still looks a bit wary, so Ray pulls him forward and rocks his hips sideways. Fraser's eyes close. "You wanna do this here? Or can we move it somewhere horizontal?"

Fraser's nodding his head, which would be fine except it wasn't a yes/no question. Ray makes a decision, sliding his hands up Fraser's spine and grabbing his shirt to pull it off. It's stretched out and wet around the neck, which helps because it means the tank comes over Fraser's head without too much pulling. When he gets it mostly loose Fraser's hair is a mess, like Ray's in the morning before he manages to stumble into the shower.

They get a little tangled because Fraser forgets to pick his hands up off the counter. Fraser's arms are caught in the shirt, and Ray pushes him back a couple of feet and slides out from between them. He twists the fabric tight and keeps a grip on the shirt and starts backing out of the kitchen and down the hallway, coaxing Fraser along.

He doesn't want to give Fraser time to think about how they have to leave soon, or how this might be a bad idea. So every time Fraser starts to stiffen up, Ray distracts him by pinning him up against the wall and kissing him. It works well enough.

By the time Ray drops onto the bed, pulling Fraser down with him, the clock radio says eight.

Fraser doesn't notice the time, or doesn't care, because now he's going the scenic route, licking down Ray's neck to his collarbone, his chest, and--jeez, that can't taste good--his armpit. Ray squirms and pants and wrestles Fraser onto his back, holding him down and kissing him the way he's been wanting to.

Ray can't--doesn't want to--remember the last time he was skin to skin with anybody, but now Fraser's bare chest is under him and Ray needs that feeling everywhere, so he shoves down his shorts and Fraser's sweats and does some shimmy action and then he's got it. Naked Benton Fraser spread out under him, hard and not at all shy about it.

Fraser's legs are wrapped around Ray's, and Ray's mind is spinning again, because they're fucking, rutting, just going at each other the way they should have been from the first. It's insane, and Ray half-expects to wake up with soggy sheets and an empty bed, but insane is normal since he met Fraser, why not here too? So he goes with it, sliding his dick next to Fraser's and getting a good rhythm going.

Fraser's got his eyes open now, and he's watching Ray move above him, shoving upward in just the right counterpoint. He dropped the shirt somewhere, and he's grabbing Ray by the hair and pulling him down for hot, messy kisses every time he tries to speed things up.

Fraser's shifting beneath him, making Ray slow down to match, turning it into something that isn't gentle but isn't full speed ahead, either. They're taking their time here, if Fraser's got anything to say about it. Which he does. So Ray slows down, takes a couple of deep breaths and shakes his head a little to clear it. Fraser's chewing his lip, running his hands up and down Ray's back and sliding his fingers a little lower each time. He's moving too slow, though, and it's driving Ray insane.

He wants to move faster, harder, but Fraser looks like he's having fun and he hates to spoil that.

Ray can do slow. Slow is good, slow is great. Slow is sucking on Fraser's lip and finally getting to mess up Fraser's hair and the hot sweet slide and flex of Fraser under him.

No, slow is stupid, slow is _killing_ him. Slow is making him shake apart and Fraser just looks turned on and blissed out and Ray can't be the only one this is destroying. That's not right.

Ray's never once been able to beat Fraser at his own game, but that doesn't keep him from trying. Ray can kiss, and he's putting everything he's got into this one, trying to coax some impatience out of Fraser.

Maybe it's working when Fraser's hands finally make it down to Ray's ass and, hey, they seem pretty happy to be there. Then Fraser shifts a little lower and his fingers slip between Ray's cheeks and Ray shudders and bites Fraser's lip too hard, because this plan has totally backfired.

Fraser leaves his hands where they are, licks his injured mouth and grins like he knows exactly what he's doing to Ray. He waits a few second, then shifts his hips up and strokes his fingertips lightly, pressing harder when Ray grunts and freezes, caught between what he's doing--which feels great, really, really good and like something he could keep doing forever--and what they _could_ do--which would involve moving and digging through his nightstand and might be totally worth the effort of pulling himself off Fraser long enough to do those things.

Ray can't decide, so he shuts his eyes and slides against Fraser, thinking about it. Fraser's hands are back to roaming over his back and sides, and every few passes he curls his fingers a little and scratches his nails along Ray's ribs. He used to tense up when Stella did that, didn't know why, but with Fraser it just feels like something else they do, something that makes him shiver and arch into the touch.

Ray's just made up his mind about what to do next when his alarm goes off and the tinny little clock radio speakers start blaring "Muskrat Love."

_Nibblin' on bacon_ sings the radio and Ray lunges for it, like if he can kill it before _chewin' on cheese_ they can stay in naked sex-land forever. But he's so turned on his arms don't work right, and the radio crashes to the floor where it keeps up the goddamn bleating. He swears and crawls after it and finally shuts the damn thing off.

When he looks up, Fraser is propped on one elbow, looking down at him over the edge of the bed.

"Hate that song," Ray says.

Fraser nods, his eyes warm with little wrinkles at the edges. Ray smiles back and decides sitting cross-legged on the floor with a hard-on and an alarm clock is pretty dumb when Fraser is naked on his bed. But before he can move, Fraser rolls off the other side.

Ray throws himself onto the bed, intent on dragging Fraser back into it before he can go all buttoned-up and responsible. There's no _way_ he can go to work like this, so they're going to finish what they've started. Ray'll call them both in _dead_ if he has to.

He forgets to calculate for his hard-on when he dives onto the mattress, which really sucks. By the time he uncurls a little and gets his eyes to stop watering, the bathroom door is closed and he can hear pipes clanking as Fraser starts up the shower.

Ray's always been a persistent guy. And showering together is almost as good as sex in bed. There's all that slippery soap and warm water.

Fraser will probably appreciate the multitasking.

There's bag of clean laundry slumped against the wall, has been for days, and Ray pauses to fish around in it before heading to the bathroom. It's just like old times; the hiss of the shower, that glimpse of naked Fraser. "Towel for you," Ray calls, like he always does.

Fraser's polite "Thank you, Ray" is pretty standard, too. The way he reaches out and drags Ray into the shower with him is all new. Ray loves change.

They overbalance and hit the shower wall. The tile is freezing, but Fraser is warm and slippery, his hair plastered to his forehead. He smiles at Ray with wet lips and Ray's mouth is on his like a homing thing, like it's just got to be there.

Fraser shifts against him, and Ray's suddenly glad to have the tiles holding him up. It means he's got something to lean on as Fraser runs wet thumbs along his cheekbones, holds his head still and kisses the breath out of him.

Ray's going to enjoy kissing someone his own height.

He slides his hands down Fraser's back, grinning a little at the shudders and the way Fraser leans harder against him, pinning Ray against the wall. When he gets to Fraser's ass--which is a fantastic ass, every bit as good as all those long workouts promised--they both close their eyes and Ray feels Fraser's knees start to give out. He shifts his weight and pushes Fraser away, swings them both around so that they're at the far end of the shower, right under the spray.

Ray leans in for another kiss, and then looks around for something to support them. He has an idea. "Do something for me?"

Fraser blinks a couple of times, and when he finally focuses on Ray, he nods.

"Grab onto the showerhead." Fraser lifts his arms up slowly, like he's moving in slow motion, and laces his fingers around the pipe.

Ray hopes it's as sturdy as it looks, as he slides down Fraser to kneel under the spray.

The shower floor is too hard and his knees are too sore and too bony for this, but Ray thinks maybe he could stay here for the rest of his life. Definitely for the rest of the work day. Fraser is hot from any angle, but Ray hadn't seen anything 'til getting up close and personal with Fraser's cock.

It's flushed and thick, jutting up and out, and Ray can feel the heat of it as he mouths Fraser's stomach, licks through the water on Fraser's hip. Fraser's thighs shake under Ray's hands, and Ray grins against his skin, loving this.

One of Fraser's hands comes down to cup Ray's head, Fraser's fingertips stroking over his ear, and Ray turns his head into it for a moment before pushing Fraser's arm back up toward the showerhead.

"Hold on," Ray says, trying for firm but sounding desperate. He blinks up at Fraser and almost forgets what he's doing. Fraser looks like sin, looks like he's never worn clothes, never been tidy in his life. Ray runs a hand down to cup Fraser's balls, soft skin and crinkly hair, and Fraser nods slowly and like maybe he forgot to stop, because he's still nodding when Ray licks up the side of his cock and takes him in.

He'd forgotten how intense this is, the stretch of his jaw and the easier than it should be way of breathing around the motion. The water makes everything slide just right and Ray loses himself in the feel of it, loses track of time. It can't be long, can't be long at _all_ before Fraser is harder in his mouth, rocking forward in short, helpless thrusts and making soft, desperate sounds that make Ray suck harder, stroke himself faster with the hand that somehow made it to his own cock.

He's got his eyes closed, moving his hand and his mouth in rhythm, slipping his other hand back behind Fraser's balls and sliding it in tiny strokes while Fraser shakes and moans and he's almost, almost there when Fraser tenses, shoves his hips forward and arches his back.

Ray's eyes tear up from the sudden thrust of Fraser's cock in his throat, and he pulls back a little, just in time to hear Fraser moan and feel his cock twitch as he starts to come.

Ray's hands haven't stopped moving, and the increased pressure of Fraser's limp body on his fingers makes him speed up his own thrusting, snapping his hips forward into his grip.

He's close, head dropped forward onto Fraser's thigh and knees screaming in protest against the hard floor and the motion. The hot water is roaring in his ears and he's almost there when Fraser moves, grabbing his arms and dragging him upright.

Ray moans in protest as Fraser spins him around, pulls Ray back to lean against his chest, hips pressed together, and replaces Ray's hand with his own.

Fraser strokes him firm and fast and water-slick, his other arm wrapped around Ray's chest, and Ray is about to explode, but he wants more. He reaches back and grabs Fraser's hips, as much of Fraser's ass as he can reach, wanting Fraser's chest tight against his back, Fraser's cock against his ass.

Oh, that's good. Fraser is a goddamn genius. Ray would tell him, but he's pretty sure that what's coming out of his mouth aren't actual words.

Fraser kisses Ray's cheek, and Ray twists his head to reach him. That's what does it, the still-hungry way Fraser takes his mouth. That hunger twists Ray up inside and he comes in a white-hot burst that leaves him dizzy.

Water runs down Ray's body, washing him clean already, and the pressure of the spray is almost too much. He turns and leans against Fraser's chest, resting his head on Fraser's shoulder as he catches his breath. Fraser finds the soap and rubs a firm, slippery hand down Ray's back from his neck to his ass, and this is the best morning of Ray's life.

"'Kay," Ray mutters into Fraser's neck, "Give me some coffee, twenty minutes, I'm good to go again."

"Twenty minutes?"

"Twenty-five, tops."

Fraser laughs. "In twenty-five minutes I'll be on duty."

Ray shakes his head. "Call in sick. We'll grab breakfast, I can pick up the wolf, we'll go back to bed."

Fraser stiffens under his hands. "I can't do that."

Ray picks up his head and looks at Fraser. Whatever's going on, he doesn't want to get into it right now. Not when his legs are still shaking and the bathroom smells like sex and his stomach has decided that fucking is great but coffee and doughnuts would be fantastic.

Fraser's still looking at him, waiting for something.

"Okay," Ray offers slowly. "So we're going to work, like we always do."

Fraser jerks his head in something that could be a nod.

So far, so good. "And we're going to meet for lunch, same as yesterday." Another nod, and Fraser's shoulders are starting to relax under his hands. "And at lunch, we're going to decide whether to pack your stuff up and bring it here tonight, or wait for Saturday morning."

Fraser looks at him like he's lost his mind. "Are you unhinged?"

Ray steals the soap out of Fraser's hand and gives himself a scrub. "You know, I really don't know. We'll talk about that at lunch, too. And what side of the bed you want. Right, by the way."

And, on top of the mind-blowing sex, Ray gets to see Fraser speechless for once. This is so his day. He resists the urge to kiss Fraser again, and explains, "'Cause I get the left."

One last rinse and Ray is out of the shower and dripping on the bathroom floor. He grabs Fraser's towel and calls, "C'mon! Day's a-wasting. Gotta go be a statue and think about how lucky you are."

Just before he closes the door, he hears, "Right you are, Ray."


End file.
